I genuinely thought I had the time to update on Friday but that was results day and so...you know how that went. Fuck uni.
"I'm not a monster, I'm just sick."
— Ariel Castro
THIRTY TWO
FRANK HAD PASSED his hand through his hair so many times that his light waves stood up at weird angles. I had been avoiding the judgemental looks he had been throwing me ever since we left his apartment that morning. I had a mission, and I felt within me that I needed to go through with it to keep sane.
Curiosity doesn't sit well with SSCD — was a quote that had bitten me a number of times. Every time I felt curious, my actions would cause consequences that I wasn't prepared to face. This time would probably be no different.
I knew I was the one holding the gun to my head and the bullet was what would break me. Yet, I had become an empty vessel. Like Nicholas, I was beginning to comprehend that I too, had nothing to lose.
"I'm fucking losing my job." Frank announced.
I glanced at the clock. It read 4:59am. We were stood in the small white office just outside the interview room, and it was so quiet. I had no idea what strings Frank had to pull to pull this off but I was so grateful that I accepted all his glances and cusses like they were gifts.
Frank paced the room. "I can't believe I'm letting you do this. I'm an idiot." He shot me another glare. "Wait, did you drug me or something? Because there's no way I'm thinking straight—"
"I'm really grateful, Frank." I muttered, wrapping my arms around myself.
I was wearing my favourite orange jumper but that was the only colour in the room. We were all pale, on the inside and out, and the clinical white walls acted as a proxy for our emotions. A grotesque metaphor.
"Don't thank me. Just fucking go in."
5am. I took the deepest breath of my life, grabbed the door handle and pushed into the empty room.
I took leisurely steps to the table and sat on the metal chair before it. There were no glass walls. Nothing was to separate us, and there was barely any security around. Yet, it was exactly what I wanted.
"He's coming in." — I heard Frank from the bluetooth speaker in my ears and jumped slightly. I pressed a button that allowed Frank to hear me, and muttered. "I'm okay."
"Let's hope you will be."
Just then, the buzz that signalled Banshees entrance rang out loud. I might have been slightly sentimental but it sounded strangely apocalyptic. It was fitting since I felt like this moment was the one that would make or break me. I would either rise above the flames or Banshee would seduce me into letting him drag me to Hell.
I placed my palms flat on the table and watched them tremble.
Frank had promised me earlier on that if our conversations had been recorded, he had no idea of it. It relaxed me to know but at the same time, I knew that there was something twisted going on and nothing really should relax me.
I felt ill and was unable to remove my eyes from the metal doors that slid open painfully slowly. It slid open to reveal the one person that I trusted the most in SSCD.
But Banshee didn't walk in. He didn't walk into the interview room. He didn't glare at me with his fantastic eyes, he didn't smile smugly, he didn't have anything in his eyes. His head was bowed, his unruly hair fell across his features, his arms were handcuffed. It took a minute to recognise him because there was something terribly wrong with him.
"What happened?"
The single guard that had brought Banshee into the room shrugged his shoulders. "Not sure, Miss." He locked the wheelchair in front of the table, and tipped his head to me before leaving.
Silence settled into the room like a cold chill at night. My eyes were flying. They whisked from the bandages that ran from knuckles to his elbows, to the blood and dirt in his nails. I noticed the bruises all over him. They were new and purple. If they had been looked at, I couldn't even tell.
Then, I zoned in on the wheelchair and noticed his feet were chained too.
"I saw you yesterday." I muttered, the disbelief could be read from several miles away.
It was only then that he looked up at me. His heavy eye bags looked worse because of his blackened eyes, and his nose too had suffered damage. His entire face was so marred. Before, looking at Nicholas required expertise because he was jarring. Now, it was just torture. His bruised lips parted slightly on realising that nothing separated us both.
He gauged the distance between us and the look on my face. All I could smell was blood. It repulsed me as I realised that this smell was something familiar to him. After all, he often left his victims unrecognisable.
His lips tilted up. "Bizarre, isn't it?"
"What happened to you?"
Banshee winced as he shifted in his chair. "Why did you have them drag me out at this ungodly hour?"
I didn't voice my frustrations at his blatant ignorance of my question. It would seem as though I cared for him. "I had questions."
"Curiosity will kill you, Aria."
I shrugged, trying to avoid the fact that he looked like he had been mauled. "It already has."
Banshee chuckled. His cheekbones hollowed when his lips pursed. "Touché."
I couldn't take my eyes away from the fact that he was in a wheel chair. The man who held the problems of the world on his shoulders had become too weak to keep up with the bastard. "Are they broken?"
He followed my gaze to his legs. "Does it matter?"
"No." I replied truthfully. Looking at them, I could tell that they worked fine enough. They wouldn't chain them if otherwise. He was probably just weak from blood loss.
Before he could retort with a smart reply, I gestured at his many cuts and bruises. "Are they self inflicted?"
He paused, briefly. When he spoke again, his words had reduced to whispers. "Would you believe otherwise?"
"No." I whispered. "You're untouchable."
At that, he smiled sympathetically. "That's not true." He glanced down at himself. "Look at me, Aria. The only person who has the power to hurt me is me and I've never missed a chance to do so."
I felt my heart twist at his small confession. Banshee had put his own self in that wheelchair and that thought disturbed me. It meant all his injuries had been self inflicted.
He muttered. "I can't be untouchable if I'm both the victim and the abuser." His chains jangled like keys. "Aria, tell me what you want to know."
At that, I leaned close to him. So close that I could see every indentation of his marred face. I could see that my closeness dawned on him quickly, and I noticed how it affected him. Make no mistake, it affected me more. My bravery was foolish and I knew that if he wished to end my life, if he yelled at me, if he lost all control because of something I said, I would feel it all.
Again.
His eyes widened for a fraction of a second and then he released a slow painful breath. "I know what you're doing."
"Look in my eyes and tell me the truth, Nicholas."
"You can't take it."
"Try me." I challenged.
"The lack of glass makes you vulnerable, Aria. You're wrong to think it has the same effect on me." Banshees hollow eyes glinted. If he were a normal man, his eyes would be the most fascinating thing to look into. "Looking into your eyes wouldn't stop me from lying like the Devil."
I kept his eyes locked with mine. "Then lie to me if you want to."
His smile slipped. "I—"
"Was her name Mirabel?"
I watched him stiffen.
"The woman who did the project with you before. Her name is Mirabel, isn't it? I need to know more about what you know of her. Please." I pleaded.
Banshee fell back against his wheelchair and chuckled. "Mirabel." He closed his eyes and shook his head for long minutes. I could tell she had affected him in ways that I could never fathom.
"What did she want from you?"
He tilted his head to the ceiling, paying me no attention. "Do you really want to know?"
"It's the only thing that'll keep me sane."
"I promise you it'll do quite the opposite."
"That's for me to deal with. Please, Nicholas. Tell me what she wanted." I practically grovelled.
When his eyes sprung open, they held mayhem and madness. A mix that terrified me. Even in a wheelchair, Banshee could do anything he wished. "Revenge."
"And did you help her get it?" I asked.
He thought about the question for a while. He took a bite of my words, tasted it, savoured it. "I'm not quite sure if I have."
I clicked onto his words faster than I had imagined. My heart slowly made its way to my throat and my heart picked up its pace. "You used present tense." My voice was shaky. "Why?"
Banshee rose a brow at my words. I had humoured him. "Do you no longer trust me?"
I deflected his question. I did trust him, but how would he react to it? I placed my hands underneath my thighs to hide my trembling. My hands were like books, you could read my palms and tell my life story. I didn't want Banshee to see them.
I cleared my throat. "Who did she want to revenge?"
He tilted his head to the side and tapped a finger against his jaw in thought. He mocked me as he did so, sighing out loud as though he were struggling to think.
"Ah, I remember."
His lips pursed and when his darkened eyes slowly focused on me, I watched his bruised lips pull apart like pulled pork. He smiled. Only Nicholas Dementia could turn a smile into something that was instantly colossal.
It was his turn to close the gap between us. He leaned forward and suddenly his face was inches from mine. My chest was on fire. I was boundless. I began thinking of all the possible ways that this could end. Terribly. He was playing with the vulnerability I had tried to use on him.
Then he lifted his hand and his fingers brushed across my cheek like feathers. He looked utterly immersed in the action. His breathing sped up. His jaw ticked whilst I, on the other hand, was unable to breathe. His lashes fell against his face as his eyes became hooded — "Who did she want to revenge, you ask?" — and when his eyes widened again, they were much brighter. Bright with malicious intent.
It was then that he leaned up from the wheel chair and I felt his chapped lips so close my ear. My senses had heightened to the point of despair. I could no longer move or feel. This was a fight or flight situation and somehow, I had chosen to freeze. His hands had left me alone but still, he was too close. He could kill me in a matter of seconds. My life was literally in his hands.
But Banshee didn't kill me because he knew that his words were far worse.
"You." He finally whispered, breaking my heart. "It's all you, love."
_____
Recap: Damien is Diana & Arias father.
JUNE 1995
DAMIEN FELT HIS HEART threaten to split right down the middle. He had never known that he was capable of carrying this colossal amount of guilt within him until today. He stood outside the hospital doors and paced the area. His wife, Amelia, was going to attempt to have another baby and that was his fault. After Diana and Aria had been born a year before, the doctors said Amelia barely survived and should consider a surrogate next time.
They had declined because Aria and Diana were enough.
But then something had happened and Damien needed her to do it again. He knew her womb was too weak to keep a baby alive yet he persuaded her to try again. He had spewed lies and guilt tripped Amelia into carrying another child.
He knew whatever child she was carrying was probably already dead, but that horrid fact seemed essential to the success of his twisted plan.
Damien peeked at his watch and ran off in the other direction. He rushed to the second floor of the hospital and towards room 33B where his biggest mistake was waiting for him — the woman he had thought he loved was behind the door and she was also going to birth his son.
His son. Damien cussed out loud and slammed fist against the wall. He was going to jail if anything went wrong, and if by some luck he managed to avoid jail, Hell patiently awaited him. "Fuck!"
A nurse scurried past Damien and he grabbed at her arm to stop her. "Is everything alright?" — his eyes must have revealed his fear and worry because the nurse stopped in her tracks.
"Are you the husband of Mirabel?" She queried.
Damien shuddered and felt the fingers of guilt wrap around his throat. They threatened to choke him. He shook his head. "No, I'm the brother in law. Family."
"Name?"
"Damien Black."
"Is the father present too?"
He couldn't speak and resorted to a quick shake of his head. What would anyone think if they knew that he were both the father and the uncle of his child? His own actions filled him with waves of disgust.
The nurse nodded slowly and scanned her files. "I'm sorry, Mr Black, but you're not marked here as her visitor so you can't see her. Don't worry though, she's doing really well."
"Okay." Damien murmured, and spun around in the opposite direction to return to his wife. He paused briefly. "Can you inform me when she's delivered?"
"I'll try my best."
When Damien reached the corner of the busy hospital halls, he sunk to the floor from the weight of his actions. He had not meant for this to happen. He hadn't meant to do anything with Mirabel. He hadn't meant to feel like he loved her. He hadn't meant to cause any harm.
His tears were hot and angry against his pallid face. Damien Black loved his wife, he was certain of it. He had done everything to protect her and make her happy — but the second Mirabel had walked into his home and introduced herself, he had been ensnared.
Damien couldn't tell Amelia anything about the affair because it would kill her. She was emotional and impulsive — it took the slightest things to panic her so he was certain that this would destroy her completely. Damien couldn't tell Amelia about the baby. It was too sickening to form into words and the very thought of it had caused him sleepless nights and constant dread.
So because of that, he had done everything in his power to keep Amelia away from her sister, Mirabel. No one knew Mirabel was pregnant but him and he was going to keep it that way. His initial plan was to estrange Mirabel from their family, and visit them once a month. He wasn't sure how he could do it successfully but he would try because he was out of options.
But then the second Amelia had come into bed one night and muttered — "I've always wanted a big family, Damien. It's a shame I can't have one." — he had formulated a new plan.
It was purely a combination of the devils luck and Gods wrath that sent both his wife and her sister into labour at the same time.
Damien had long decided to switch the babies.
He stood up and bolted down the emergency stairs and into room 22A where his wife lay. She wasn't doing really well, her vitals were flashing dangerously and she was screaming bloody fucking murder. The doctors shoved at him to lend her support but he wasn't sure that he could. After all, he had caused this to happen.
"We're losing her!" The doctor yelled, and a flurry of activity began. Damien was still stood frozen behind the closed door as he watched Amelia struggle to breathe. Her eyes were rolled back and the doctors were panicking.
Damien felt tears stain his cheeks.
One of the four doctors in the room rushed to his side and hastily hissed words at him. It was only after the second time that he heard what she had been saying. "Mr Black, she's losing consciousness. She needs you."
His eyes refocused through blurry tears. "Wha..?"
"You need to get up and go to your wife." The doctors eyes were reddened. Her face was blotchy. She was speaking with trepidation. "Your wife might die, and if we stop this now, the baby will die. He's barely responding."
"It's a boy?"
The doctor paused for a moment. A tear escaped her eyes and she nodded, throwing her professionalism in the bin. "It is."
It was then that Damien sobbed like a baby. He hadn't expected to feel this way. Fuck, he didn't even know what he had expected. He grabbed at his hair and tugged. "I can't."
"Mr—"
"No. No. What the fuck am I doing?" Damien sobbed. He pushed up from the door and stumbled towards Amelia. He had known the baby would die, he had known shit would go down. But he hadn't really swelled on the consequences of that. "I'm sorry baby. I'm so sorry. This is my fault. I love you. I love you."
Like a mantra, he kept repeating the words to his wife. All of a sudden, he didn't care about Mirabel. He didn't care about the consequences. He just wanted Amelia, and his son to be okay.
Damien glared at the doctors. "Do something!"
And as though his words were the sounds of death, the doctors hushed and there was a moment of thick ugly silence that enveloped them all.
Damien didn't need to ask any questions. From the look of the doctors faces from behind the curtains, he knew that the inevitable had occurred. "Take him to the BU!" — a voice yelled and in a matter of seconds, the baby was rushed out the door in a small emergency carriage and taken somewhere else. The remaining doctors began working to sate and stabilise Amelia.
Damien took several steps away from the bed as though it was a crime scene. His ears were ringing and he whispered one last time before leaving — "I'm sorry."
When Damien had found Mirabels room, all guilty feelings inside of him had burned up. He felt nothing. He entered into the room and was surprised to find that no one was in there but Mirabel. She was fast asleep, and the baby was not in the room.
He looked at her sleeping form. "You've ruined me."
He left the room and found the nurse he had been speaking to earlier on. He walked slowly towards her, wiping at his eyes. "Where's the baby?"
"Oh, hello again. He's been transferred to the BU." She smiled kindly. "He came out a little premature but he's in good hands."
"The BU?"
The nurse knew what he meant and she heaved a sigh. For some reason, she didn't mind telling him everything. "The Baby Unit. The boy came out with jaundice."
"Jesus." Damien hissed.
"It's not uncommon, Mr Black. Your nephew will be fine. Congratulations on becoming an uncle." She reassured, before turning to leave.
He called out. "Has Mirabel met the baby?"
The woman took a second before replying. Her eyes had narrowed now because that was a strange question. "Not yet. She passed out soon after."
"Thank you."
The BU. Damien would not rest until he had done what he had came here to do. He had watched Amelia nearly die because of his actions, and he knew he couldn't let her know that her baby risked death. He needed to do something fast.
When Damien walked into the BU after quick registration, he learned that he and Amelia's son was in the incubator room as well. It was the only reason they had let him into the unit. He stood in front of the glass wall and watched thirty babies sleep.
His son was the third on the left, and the amount of wires that were stretched to his bed was tragic and painful to see.
"I'm so sorry, Mr Black. Your son is in critical condition and he might not survive the night." The head nurse at the BU department said sorrowfully. She patted him on the shoulder softly. "I'll leave you to say your goodbyes. A shame your wife couldn't do the same."
"She wouldn't need to." Damien whispered more to himself than anyone. He turned to face the old woman. "My sister in law gave birth as well. The boy is supposed to be in here."
"Oh, two births at once! You're a trooper." She tried to joke but it fell flat against the tension in the room. The woman heaved a sigh. "What's her name?"
"Mirabel Frankfurt. The baby has jaundice."
"Oh dear." The nurse muttered as she scanned her notes. She traced something out and looked back at him. She noticed his reddened eyes, his blotchy nose, the tears and the pain swimming within his features and felt immense pity. "I'm not supposed to tell you this but I will because you've been through a lot."
"Thank you."
"He's in cot 24. His vitals are good. He'll be fine." She smiled softly. "Take your time."
And as she left, Damien committed a great sin.
Hours later, Mirabel would awaken to news of a dead baby, whilst Amelia would be filled with glee at the thought that she had birthed a beautiful boy.
Damien was sat outside in the parking lot on that day. He had his heart in his hands. He hadn't been able to sleep the whole night and didn't want to be there when either Mirabel or Amelia got the news. He was sick. He couldn't even look at the child.
"What's his name?" The nurse asked Amelia as she cradled the boy.
Amelia blinked up at the nurse through happy tears. "Hugh. Like his grandfather."
____
BEFORE YOU COME FOR ME, remember the year is 1995. I did some research and switches at birth were fairly common in these times! It was very possible.
Don't know why I have to say this, the book isn't over.